


Get Righ' With Me

by PurebloodFerret



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurebloodFerret/pseuds/PurebloodFerret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collaboration with my amazing friend. Very canon, a lot of scenes from season six will be written out, but the parts between them are all our own and propel the relationship in our own way.</p><p>Chibs works out his relationship with Juice whilst trying to keep an eye on how the boy's mental stability is slowly unravelling around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chibs - Straw

“Clear out,” I bark at the other men standing around in the workshop, my eyes darting from Juice to the prospect, “Close the door, Rat.” 

The long-faced prospect jumps to attention and draws the metal roller door down, leaving only myself in the garage with Juice. Juice is standing by his bike, wiping his hands with a dirty rag, succeeding only in smearing the grease around his knuckles. I take a moment to shrug my cut off my shoulders and place it on the bench behind me, noticing a familiar smokey pair of eyes peeking through from between the blinds in the office. I turn back to the young man before me, watching how he covered his nose with his hand, eyes dropping to the floor before coming back up to meet my own again.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, voice flat.

“I’m a bit worried abou’ you, Juicy.” I stare into those brown eyes, so shadowed with the weight of life in the MC. It breaks my heart to see the pit he’s dug himself into, so naïve in thinking we – I, at the very least- could ever kick him from the club just because of his estranged father. The fact that he stooped to such a low level, to kill a brother, still rings loudly in my ears and the light in which I usually see Juice has dimmed and flickered.

Juice shrugs and his voice cracks in the most unconvincing way, “I’m okay man.”

“No no no, not how you are,” I interject, dangerously quiet, “ I’m worried abou’ what you might do.” 

His eyebrows crease and he continues to play dumb, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You stole from us, to help a cop,” my lip curls at the very thought of this man I consider family turning against the club, “and you killed a brother.”

“No,” he tries again, but it’s half hearted and I can see the truth in his face even as he says, “Miles tried to-” 

I didn’t want to hear it, not the lies, not his excuses, none of it. I cut him off, “you ratted, and then you took a cowardly swing from a tree.” 

The disappointment in my voice lingers in the air and makes Juice shift uncomfortably on the spot. He looks lost and pathetic and I feel a small pang of sympathy wash over me, momentarily soothing the fierce waves of anger still crashing around inside me since the truth was brought to light. I squash it down and ignore the urge to embrace him; right now I needed to release the tension building up behind my knuckles. I remove my rings one by one as Juice breathes out another apology.

“Never meant to hurt the club,” his eyes are big and wet when he looks at me properly.

“But you did, and for some reason, Jax has given you a pardon,” I’m not sure how I manage to keep my voice so still and deliberate with all the white rage swelling up in my chest, demanding retribution for all the betrayal and lies, “and there’s nothing I can do about tha’.” I grimace, push myself off the bench and step closer to the Puerto Rican. “But I gotta get right with it somehow.” 

His body is rigid in the shadow of my own, lips tight and eyes set with understanding and acceptance. “I love you brother.” The words fall from his mouth with a determined hitch of his throat and I know this is exactly what we both need. 

“I know,” is my answer, and I throw myself into a solid swing that connects perfectly to his cheek. The force knocks Juice back into the mobile workbench, but it only takes him a second to stand upright again and he’s in my face, breathing fast and heavy as adrenaline courses through him. The way fghjooocv his eyes lock onto mine, the silent begging for more, the need for this wall he’s built up to be taken down brings us both onto the same level, and he takes my next blow that sends him back onto his knees. Juice’s composure wanes as he tries to collect himself, but it takes longer than I’m willing to wait, and I grab him by the shirt and lift him. He’s breaking; I can see the demons of the last few months tearing and cracking into his features as he falls against me like a ragdoll. But this has to happen. I have to make the situation right again, he needs to feel how much he’s hurt me and the club. I grab the front of his shirt, hold him on his feet and connect my fist to his face a third time, staggering back as Juice collapses to the floor again. The fire in my gut continues to burn, relishing the pain coursing through my hand; a beautiful, simple truth. Women may reconcile with one another through words, and apologies and gifts, but I am a man. A Scot. The apologies must be hand delivered, and the gifts to linger in the shape of burst blood cells and the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.  
Juice is on the ground, taking every punch without resistance and I pause to cup his broken, bleeding jaw in my palm. His eyes are closed, his jaw loose and hanging open as he wheezes in pain. Slowly, the fire is dying down, leaving just an aching numbness. I clench my fist one last time, and release every last iota of anger into the final suckerpunch, careful not to break his nose. My ears stop ringing as I back away slowly, pushing my bloodied fingers through my hair and gripping at the strands to feel the sting. At some point the blinds in the office had closed, and the sound of a car driving off in the distance is the only noise interrupting Juice’s shallow, desperate gasps for air. He lies on the ground, broken skin trickling blood across his forehead and mouth. I move back towards the table where my rings still sit, and lean against it, breathless. 

For a long while there is only the sound of our labored breaths, my own regulating long before Juice’s. I slide down the leg of the table until my ass touches the cold cement, eyes glued on the young man before me. That’s when the last of the wall crumbles. It comes in a ragged, uneven croak, but soon Juice is shaking and glaring stubbornly at the roof as the pieces fall down around him, leaving him raw and open; as fresh as the cut above his eye. He continues to tremble as I drag myself towards him and cup my hand around his neck.

“C’mon Juicy,” I sigh, lowering my face close to his. “That’s enough now.” 

His eyes move away from the corrugated roof and find mine, a world of emotion displayed in them for anyone willing to read. I do read it, all of it, and I pull him into a sitting position and thumb away the wetness over both his cheeks. Juice whimpers and leans into the touch in a way that makes a part of my stomach flop unexpectedly. His eyelashes flutter as he tries to look away, the air between us suddenly thick. I don’t allow myself to think before my hold around his neck stiffens and I’m dragging his mouth to crash against my own. His lips taste of salt and copper and I swallow his cry of surprise, tightening my grip and refusing to let him pull back until I’m ready to let him go. When I do, his eyes are wide and frightened, and for a second I’m sure I’ve crossed a line. The impulse was so sudden, so urgent, I hadn’t been thinking properly, I couldn’t even explain why I kissed him if he asked me. Thankfully he doesn’t, but he doesn’t say anything else either. He just stares up at me, his hands resting unsure against my chest.

“Juice…” I begin, slowly retracting my hand from his nape, “I’m sorry, that was-“  
I don’t finish my sentence; it gets lost in Juice’s mouth as he throws himself onto me, his lips frantically seeking mine. My vision blurs and all rational thought goes hazy, like someone had switched the tv over to an untuned channel. All I can smell is sweat and blood and I wrap my arms around the younger man, pulling him closer, feeling him melt into my touch as he balls his fists in the front of my jacket. The sensation in my stomach moves south and I can feel my cock straining against the denim of my jeans. I dart my tongue out to lick his bottom lip and he opens his mouth without a second thought, and a small moan escaping his throat. I delve in, tasting him and relishing the way he pushed himself up onto his knees just to close the gap between our bodies. My cock twitches again as blood pools into my crotch. I feel a similar bulge pressing against my thigh and Juice’s shaking hands are moving down to tug desperately at my leather belt. The abrupt sensation clears my head just enough to realize what is about to happen and I break the kiss, catching his wrists to stop his clumsy fumbling.

“Juice,” I pant, his name rolling off my tongue so thickly I’m not even sure it sounds how it should anymore. He stops and glances up at me, still looking ever so like a deer in headlights, only this time his lips are swollen and pink from something other than my punches. His eyes are glassy and lidded, and I have to restrain from throwing all caution to the wind and capturing his mouth with mine once more.

“Fuck, I-“ Juice seems to sober up and blinks rapidly. “Holy shit Chibs, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m not a fag I swear!” 

His pleas shoot out at a ratio of six words a second and I shake my head at his naivety. “Juice, don’t be like tha’, you didnae even make the first move.” I say softly, trying to dispel the sheer look of terror drawn into his sharp features. 

“But, then,” he says, his mouth opening and closing, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, not like this,” I sigh, feeling much too old to be kneeling on cold cement kissing patch members. Kissing boys isn’t new, I’ve had my fair share of experimentation in my youth, and decided it wasn’t the worst thing in the world; to be truthful, with the right person it’s more thrilling than kissing a woman. That’s where my mind become fuzzy again, kissing Juice just then had been more thrilling than kissing any other person in my life, male or female, Fi included. But this, right here on the garage floor wasn’t the right way to go about any of it. 

“Chibs,” Juice swallows, a deep blush creeping up his neck and onto his face, “please, can I-“ 

I shake my head, not wanting to hear anything that might trigger the stupid primal male instincts again and interrupt, “no, just come here and give me a look at these wounds.”  
Juice’s eyes stray to the furthest corner of the room as I get to my feet, adjust my pants and find the first aid kit in the wall cabinet. The silence is comfortable yet awkward as I swab away his blood and place a butterfly stitch over the cut on his eyebrow. My hand lingers on his neck for longer than necessary when he’s patched up and I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

“I love you brother,” I say in a low voice, “let’s get you home.”


	2. Juice - Fear Does a Lot to a Man

My eyes follow Chibs out of the garage before my body does, movements stiff from the beating and the air of awkward and sex sparking between us like electricity. I think my brain shut down between kisses because all I can think is something along the lines of ‘holy fuck’ and ‘why’ and ‘where did that even come from?’ because if Chibs has been harboring feelings for me for as long as I have for him, the mans got a pokerface like you wouldn’t believe.

The soft call of my name wrapped in that accent pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize I was standing like an idiot beside the passenger door of the van, and Chibs is already inside, watching me with eyes I can’t really read right now. Or don’t want to read right now, I can’t decide. I feel my cheeks pink of their own volition as I reach for the handle, movements jerky as I haul myself inside, looking anywhere but at the Scot beside me.

“You ok Juicy?” Chibs asks as he puts the van in reverse, and I realize I didn’t even notice him start the thing. I steel my nerves and finally look over to him and force a smile. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” the lie tastes sour on my tongue, a taste I’ve been far too used to the past year, or however long this mess has even been going on for. All I know is I’m dug in too deep, and the only light I can see right now is the Scot beside me. I try not to blush again as I force a wider smile this time, as if to prove just how fine I really am. I can tell Chibs knows I’m full of shit, but doesn’t press the issue further as he trains his eyes on the road. Hell, his heads probably as messed up as mine right now.

The silence in the van is tense, but not overly uncomfortable. We’re far too used to each other’s company not to lapse into a comfortable silence anyway, near sex in the garage be damned. I find myself doing what I’ve always done when Chibs and I used to go on long runs together; my eyes train themselves onto the Scot beside me through the reflection in the windshield, and I watch him drive. Always sure of himself outside of a vehicle, the Scot seems so much more at home behind a wheel or clutching handlebars. His movements are fluid and certain, and for some reason it’s always fascinated me. Especially his hands. My cock gives a half interested pulse as I watch those hands, now with the solid reminder of how they feel on me, not just imagined anymore and, God, I’m completely screwed.

If Chibs is aware of my eyes on him (now, or ever) he doesn’t let on, just keeps focused on the road in front of him, and I soon realize we’re not far from my house. Panic quickly starts building up, low in my stomach, and I scramble for something to say. After spending so much time alone, I realize, suddenly, I don’t want to be anymore. But I can’t exactly invite the Scot to mine, I silently remind myself. He made it pretty clear whatever it was that happened back there wasn’t going to happen again any time soon. 

“Are you going to be alrigh’ tonigh’ Juicy?” apparently Chibs and I are more on the same wavelength than I thought, and when I glance over our eyes meet for a moment or two before he has to look back to the road. Am I going to be all right on my own? I have no idea. But something doesn’t feel totally right between us still. 

“Ye-yeah, I think so,” I begin, twisting my hands in my lap. My tongue darts out to wet my suddenly dry lips, and I don’t miss the lingered glance through the reflection of the windshield as Chibs’ eyes fight to move from my mouth back up to my face then back to the road. Something about that makes me shiver involuntarily, and my jeans are feeling a bit too tight again. “I think, I mean, yeah, I’ll be fine. Good nights rest and all that,” I stammer, fuck, what am I even saying?

“Aye, ok Juicy boy,” is the Scots reply, a small smile tugging at his lips. I can’t help but grin back, a nervous laugh forming in the back of my throat as I rub the back of my neck, shift slightly and glance out the window. When we pull into my driveway, Chibs kills the engine, and I’m suddenly at a loss for what to do. I know I should be making a move to get out, but my body feels like concrete. 

“Juicy,” it comes out as an almost sigh, and I turn to face the man again. His eyes are even darker in the dimmed light coming from the street, and I cant help but stare. The silence stretches on and I feel my mouth open and close a couple times while my brain fights for something to say. Anything to say. Chibs’ right hand comes off the wheel to cup my neck, and I can’t stop the shameless lean into the old familiar comforting touch, my eyes sliding closed. His thumb rubs back and forth on the back of my neck, and I feel whatever is left of this tension that’s been building up inside of me since this entire mess started, begin to evaporate.  
“Chibs,” I begin on a barely audible sigh, forcing my eyes open once more to meet his, “I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry for letting everyone down but you, I, I never wanted to, you’re the last person I wanted to disappoint,” I confess, daring enough to bring a hand up to cover the one on my neck. Chibs lets out a huff and a small smile, one that’s half sad, half calling me an idiot.

“Aye, I know lad,” the Scot starts, and finally, finally I see the last of the anger, the betrayal, the fucking hatred he’s been keeping bottled up for me, because of me, leave those brown eyes I suddenly realize I miss. A lot. Christ. “I know in your own special way you were jus’ tryin’ ta do the righ’ thing. Fear does a lot to a man. Next time,” and that hand on my neck tightens just a bit, “Next time you ask for help, ya hear me?”

And it’s then I get it. It’s not just the betrayal of the MC, the betrayal on everyone, the ratting, the theft, the death of Miles, all of it, it’s the fact I pushed him away, after everything we’ve been through, that’s hurt Chibs the most. The fact I didn’t go to him, listen to him, confide in him. I pushed Chibs away the most, and even thought about killing myself before ever trying to confide in him again. God, do I feel like dumb a piece of shit. 

With a final squeeze of my neck, Chibs lets his hand drop, but not before he smacks me lightly upside the head. “Sleep well Juicy,” are his words of goodbye, and I manage, somehow, to get myself out of the van as he starts it again, only tripping over my own feet once before I right myself enough to lean down to get one last look at the man, mutter a ‘yeah, I will’ and shut the door. I stand in my driveway like an idiot for the longest time, first to watch Chibs drive away, then to just think. I don’t really remember getting myself inside or to the couch, but once I do, I know as soon as I hit the couch, I’m out. And it’s the most solid sleep I’ve had in a long time.


	3. Chibs - Fracture

The whiskey in my glass is going down just that wee bit too easy at ten in the morning as I sit at a small table in the clubhouse, watching Chucky polish champagne flutes behind the bar. Ratboy is getting his arse handed to him in a round of pool with Tig, the older man promising to let the prospect suck his dick if he wins. There aren’t many other people here, it’s too early for some, but Gemma is and she makes her way over to my table, a curious expression I can’t quite name on her face.

“Morning Chibs,” she cooes, sliding into the seat across from me. 

“Aye, that it is, love,” I smile and tip glass at her, downing the last of it in one mouthful.

“So you and Juice,” Gemma wastes no time getting down to the reason behind that knowing stare. “You boys kiss and make up last night?” 

I can’t help the filthy smirk that tugs at the side of my mouth. “We did,” is all I offer, letting the words hang between us for Gemma to interpret. We go a long way back, she knows me better than most of my brothers half the time. 

Sure enough her eyes crinkle slightly and I know she’s trying to read if there are any underlying connotations, always fun to keep her guessing. Before Gemma gets to pry any further, the main door opens and the boy himself walks inside. Juice is wearing that same white shirt and jeans from last night, the blood stains on the collar still dark and fresh and the thought crosses my mind that he probably doesn’t own any other clothes. He raises his hand as a multitude of greetings are sent in his direction and slowly makes his way to the bar. Gemma gives me one calculative last look and stands, bee-lining for the boy. She catches him just before he reaches the stools and shifts her weight to one hip and leans in as he kisses her cheek. She says something that I can’t quite make out and Juice flushes pink to his ears, gives her an awkward, nervous smile and side steps quickly away to the furthest seat on the other end of the bar. It was conveniently as far away from Gemma as it was from me and I frown. I want to ask him how he’s feeling but getting up and walking over to him seemed too obvious. I continue to sit and stare at my empty glass, rocking it back and forth on its edges, contemplating how to treat today. I don’t know how Juice really feels about what went down between us, and I’m still nervous that he’s really not as okay as he’s letting on. Mentally I curse myself again for kissing him, fucking his thoughts up worse than they already were. The kid has enough on his plate without my irrational and unhelpful input.

I’m spared from my own self-berating when Jax and Happy walk through the main door. Happy barks at Rat, one word demanding ‘beer’, and steals his pool cue out of his hands. Jax points to Juice and beckons for him to follow as he makes his way over to my table. When we’re all together Jax lowers his head slightly and says in a low voice, “Something’s come up, I need you two to come with me, we’ve had some shit go down with Nero’s crew.”

“What kinda shite?” I ask, standing from my chair.

“The kind that puts our name on that school shooting yesterday.”

“Christ,” Juice breathes out in surprise, “That was our gun?” 

“Yeah, now we gotta go find the kid’s mom she could become a problem,” my blonde president says, and turns to head back out. Juice glances at me and I fall into step with him, clasping my hand over his back in what I hope is a friendly, platonic gesture as we follow Jax out to the carpark.

We meet Nero around the corner from where his friend, Alcardio, is at home with his missus, the woman whose kid stole his gun and opened fire in his classroom. We go the long way around to miss the cop car keeping watch over the flat, jumping the brick wall and using the back door to enter.

Jax and Nero do the talking and we find the woman in her room, passed out on the bed.

“Darvany, wake up,” Nero shakes her lightly, “come on sweetheart, wake up.”

The blonde girl opens her eyes and panic overtakes her senses. “What the hell are you doing?” She scrambles frantically off the bed and Tig and I move to pin her back down. After a moment she stops struggling and Nero seems to have calmed her. We let her go but she springs up, bolting past us and to the other side of the house. Seeing as though she didn’t make a run for the front door, we don’t chase her, and a second later Juice walks in.

“Jax,” he motions towards the bathroom, looking serious. I have no interest in what the woman is doing so stay back as Jax follows Juice out the room. When I learn she just shot up a spoonful of smack my lip curls in disgust and I massage my eyebrows, too weary and weighted with everyone’s problems to even want to have an opinion about the poor lass who just lost her child. After another back and forth with Nero, Jax tells Happy to keep his eye on Arcardio and Darvany while we go and meet the irish. My mouth is dry and I move to the kitchen, finding a glass and filling it with water from the tap. When I turn around Juice is standing behind me, hands shoved deep in his pocket.

“Alrigh’ there Juicy,” I say habitually, leaning back against the bench.

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling and folding his arms around his chest. “Some crazy shit man.” 

I nod silently and offer the last half of my glass to him. He shakes his hand, “no, thanks.”

The space between us suddenly feels much closer than a second ago and I can’t help my eyes as they wander down to his mouth, remembering the soft heat of them against my own. Fuck sake Filip, I curse at myself, don’t do this again, stop thinking about it. Juice takes a tentative step forward but I put a hand on his shoulder. “Not now lad,” I say, quickly realizing where we are again, “c’mon, let’s go do this Irish bullshit.”

He shakes his head, as if regretting following me into the kitchen, and turns and walks out to where Jax is waiting for us at the door.

________________________________________________________________________

I’m seething on the inside. 

After meeting up with Galen O’Shay Jax made the call to not put any of the guns we just received from the Irish out until he sees it fit to do so. I can just feel the backlash this will have on the club and the sting of my young president raising his voice over mine is still raw. I understand where he’s coming from, but the heat of not putting out has the potential to drop more bodies than it will protect. I’m pulled over at the service station, waiting for Tiggy and Jax to fuel up, and Juice is taking a piss on a nearby tree. The sign above my head on the brick wall says no smoking, but the fag dangling from my lower lip suggests I don’t give two fucks. Smoke fills my lungs and the nicotine hit sends a pulse through my veins, calming my shaking hands. All I want to do is punch the little shit’s cocky face off his skull and make him see reason. I wonder if this is how Bobby felt by the end of his vice presidency. The other men’s bikes roar back to life and I flick the butt of my cigarette to the ground, smothering the cherry with the toe of my boot. I mount my Dyna and follow them back out onto the highway, the frustration of the last half hour still sitting deep in the pit of my gut.

We reach the cabin where Arcadio, Daverny and one of his crew –I think I heard the name ’Fiasco’ get dropped- are hiding out in. The girl is in one of the rooms, and Nero is talking to his guys in the kitchen; something about keeping her even. In the distance a car can be heard rolling up to the cabin, and Happy checks the window. “Gemma,” he says simply, and Jax exits to greet her.

We all stand around the dining table, an uncomfortable silence broken only by Tig lifting his leg shamelessly and letting one rip. We all grimace and snicker while he shrugs unapologetically and goes back to resting against the table. The icebreaking moment is interrupted by Arcadio’s girl stumbling out of the room wielding a shotgun and screaming for her man to run away with her.

The melodrama of the situation would have made me roll my eyes if she waving a gun around so unsteadily aimed at everyone. She runs outside and Jax, Gemma and Nero all pull out their guns but succeeding in only being forced into dropping them onto the ground. The adrenaline rushes through me as I hurry with Tig and the others to join the outside commotion. By the time I can get a clear view of what’s happening, a shot is fired and Arcardio’s brains are smeared across the inside of Gemma’s car where Daverny was trying to make a get away with him.

What happens next is a rushed blur of dust and spear-tackling, Jax nearly shooting the blonde point blank from his position over her in the dirt; Nero and his voice of reason the only thing stopping him. I rush over to where they had ended up on the ground, Tig only seconds behind and we manage to get her back inside the cabin, ropes binding her down securely to the bed. When we’re sure she can’t get out, we gag her with tape and make our way back into the dining room, sitting and waiting for Jax and Nero’s crew to return from dealing with Arcadio’s body.

“She locked down tight?” Jax asks when he finally walks back in.

“Yeah, she’s not goin’ anywhere,” Tig answers.

“She’s started baying pretty bad,” I warn, not even bothering to meet Jax’s eyes as I inform him of our captive’s withdrawal symptoms.

“You got it?” Jax turns to Fiasco, who pulls out two small bundles of smack.

I stand up to take it from him but Jax stops me in my tracks.

“Chibs, I got this,” he says evenly, “you guys start cleaning Gemma’s car, break down that rifle.” He turns to Juice, “Juice, get the kit.”

Juice picks up a small beige case and follows Jax into the room where Daverny is tied up, his head bowed low and eyes creased in what I read as anxious nervousness. My eyes trail after him, lingering longer than I intend to on the way his jeans hang off his hipbones. 

Happy turns to me. “Got your ball pein?” he asks. 

“Aye,” I nod, and stalk out the door with Happy to clean up Jax’s mess again.


	4. Juice - She was the First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! New chapter guys :D thanks for all the hits, please leave comments letting us know what you think and even if you have any suggestions, we love hearing from you all <3

Some days, you just really shouldn’t get outa bed, or in my case, off the couch. Just when you wake up, feeling a thousand times refreshed after your first solid sleep in what feels like years, wondering what today will bring after last night’s interesting events, one tiny thing happens, and you know shit’s going to go down hill real fast. Just a simple message from Jax, informing me (and I’m assuming everyone else) to get down to Teller-Morrow ASAP, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea why, but I just feel uneasy.

Might be due to the enormous pile of shit I’ve inundated on my self lately, I’ve just developed a sixth sense for when events are gunna go south.

Not bothering to change, I grab the cut from the back of the couch, the only article of clothing I removed last night, throw it on and head for the door, realizing even my shoes didn’t make it off last night. I’m vaguely aware of the blood and sweat that still clings to the white fabric of my shirt, but I can hardly care. Underneath it all is the lingering scent of Chibs’ aftershave, and somehow that comforts me enough to get on my Liberace and head to the clubhouse.

When I get in, just about everyone’s there, and I say my hello’s and make my way to the bar, where Chucky’s polishing up some glasses. I spot Gemma chatting with Chibs at one of the tables and, spying the look she’s giving the Scot, decide it’s far too early in the morning to deal with that, so I steer clear. Apparently the matriarch has other plans, as her hawk-eyes find me and she struts her way over.

“Morning hun,” she greets, and I put on my best smile and give her a kiss on the cheek, mumbling a ‘morning’ against her skin before pulling back. She’s got that look on her face and the tiniest smirk finds its way to her lips before she states, “glad to see you two kissed and made up last night,” eyes flicking down to my blood-stained shirt then back up.

My face heats instantly, and I bark out a nervous laugh. I knew the woman was in the office when Chibs cornered me last night, but how much did she see? After realizing my reaction has probably given it all away regardless, I stammer out a ‘yeah, we did’ before I grab the beer Chucky has put down for me and make my way to the end of the bar, unable to look at either Gemma or Chibs. Especially Chibs.

There’s no time to dwell in my own shit, however, before Jax is here, and we’re making our way up to Piney’s old cabin to deal with the aftermath of the school shooting that happened yesterday. Turns out it was our gun the kid used, and we have to clean up the mess.

~~~

“Juice, get the kit.”

I knew I shouldn’t have gotten off the couch this morning. I do as my Prez tells me, and grab the kit of smack and follow him into the bedroom, where Daverny has been restrained after trying to escape. I feel Chibs’ eyes on my back, but I don’t dare look back at him. I can’t. Too much blood has been spilled already, and knowing what I have to do now, it’s kinda hard keeping the bile at bay.

Fiasco lingers in the doorway, watching me closely while I tie the poor woman’s arm off. “Relax, okay?” I ask gently, and I can’t tell who it’s aimed at more, the broken woman on the bed, or myself. Gently, I rub her forearm, feeling the veins protrude from her skin. Knowing that I can’t do what I’m about to do with eyes on me, I turn to the Mexican in the doorway.

“I got it, dude,” I’m amazed at how steady I can keep my voice when I have to, and after a meaningful stare, Fiasco nods once before taking his exit, closing the door behind himself. My eyes are drawn back down to Daverny; she looks scared and lost but at the same time, there’s a resigned knowing in those eyes, and I can tell she’s accepted her fate. The smack will make it easier. I flick the needle twice before I put it in her skin, watching as her eyes flutter closed and her head loll to the side as the smack takes effect as it slowly empties into her blood stream.

For a moment, I just look. This entire situation isn’t sitting right with me, but I know this is my test. To make it right with Jax and the MC, I know I’m going to be Jax’s bitch boy for a while, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Heaving a sigh, I pick up the first pillow and place it beside the woman on the bed. ‘Just do it,’ that nasty little voice snaps at me, and reigning in the last of my reserve, I grab for another pillow, and place it over Daverny’s head. After a moment, she begins to struggle, and I stare at the ceiling while she fights her restraints, knowing that every last cell in her body, smacked out or not, is fighting to live. I flashback to my own attempted suicide, remembering how it feels as your body fights for oxygen; everything hurts and your limbs flail and lash out of their own volition before they just can’t, and her frame gives a couple more feeble jerks before she’s still. I feel something inside me give way, and a numbness begins to seep through my bones.

‘It’s done,’ and it becomes my internal monologue as the rest of the world becomes white noise, and there’s a familiar sting building behind my eyes. Gently, I place the pillows back where they came from, and look down at the still body beside me. I brush some of her fine blonde hair out of her face, and make it look as though she’s sleeping before I make my leave. No need to linger, this is gunna be a shitstorm enough without me making it look obvious by staying in the room longer than necessary. Jax is in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and pulling on a fag as I make my way in, heading over to the sink.

“She good?” the man asks quietly, blue eyes boring into mine.  
“Yeah,” I give a curt nod and head to the sink, lathering my hands with soap before I start to scrub. Blood or no blood, I feel as though it’s all over my hands, and I need to wash it away. Somehow.

~~~

It’s only a matter of hours before everyone realizes Daverny’s dead. I’m standing by the front door, and Nero spins on me first, all calm and terrifying, calling me out on the drugs.

“I dunno man, I gave her half the ten pack,” I begin, feeling a tad small under Nero’s intense gaze. I can tell he isn’t buying it, doesn’t want to buy it. I pick up the pack, taking a few steps forward, squaring my shoulders as I hold it up, “Look at the balloon, there’s still dope in it,” and I can tell how badly Nero wants to believe this wasn’t us. Wasn’t me. Nero’s gaze goes from me, to Jax, then to his boys, and he approaches Fiasco. I take a tentative step back, and risk a glance at Chibs, as Nero queries the origins of the smack. He’s in an old armchair, Tiggy standing at his back, and when our eyes connect I can tell he knows what I had to do. His gaze is firm, but there’s a softness in there, a sorta pity, and deciding I don’t deserve any of that right now, I tear my eyes away and focus on the heated discussion happening in the center of the room.

“Who knows what else she took,” Jax is defending, and Nero looks utterly shattered as he accepts the fabricated situation, “she probably dropped something before she went commando,” casting his eyes about once more, Nero heaves a defeated sigh and heads to the small kitchen. Jax watches him go, but spares me a glance, placing a hand on my shoulder and muttering an “It’s alright” before following suit, Gemma on his heels. If that was meant to reassure me, it didn’t work.

I’m about to cross the room over to where Chibs and Tig are situated, but freeze when Nero keeps speaking, “Arcadio…betrayed me. That had to happen. But she…has two other kids. Live with the dad. Her youngest is dead now, Mano. Dead! ‘Cause of me and you.”

And suddenly the bile’s there again, bitter and hot in the base of my throat. I can’t help it, but my eyes find Chibs, and he’s already pinning me with an intense gaze. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, backtracking, I head for the door. I need air. Trying not to trip over my own feet, I tear my eyes from Chibs and school my face in what I hope is an even look and head for the front door, making sure not to slam the heavy wood behind me.  
It takes all my energy not to just retch on the spot. Using the wooden walls of the house to hold me up, I manage to stumble to the back of the cabin before letting loose, heaving twice before it’s just fluid and bile. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I force myself vertical, leaning heavily against the back of the cabin, squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to calm the fuck down.

Then there’s a firm grip on my shoulder, which travels up to cup my neck, and I know it’s Chibs, and I just break. I don’t even open my eyes, I just turn into the embrace and my knees go weak and the Scot is holding me up as I silently shake, still too damn stubborn to let tears fall.

“Tha’s it Juicy,” Chibs sooths, arms encircling my back and holding tight. With a grip like a vice I hold onto the back of his cut, burring my face in his neck, hoping I don’t get snot all over him, and I just breathe. Under his aftershave, Chibs’ skin smells of fire and whiskey, leather and grease, and it’s always managed to calm me down. Once I know I’m not gunna hiccup like a blubbering idiot, still hoping I have some dignity in tact, I pull back, fisting my hands into the front of his cut. Both of his hands come up to cup my face.

“She has two other kids!” I begin on a hiss, wanting nothing more than to just scream myself fucking bloody but there’s a time and a place, and I can’t afford anyone over hearing, “Two Chibby! And her youngest just got gunned down! And I just fucking suffocated her! Fuck! I can’t do this Chibs, I fucking can’t, how am I meant to live with myself?”

“You just do,” Chibs is firm, and his grip tightens, and if it’s possible, he pulls my face closer to his as he speaks, “I know it aint easy, but you just do. Juicy, listen ta me. You did what you had ta do, okay? If this didnae happen, we’d all be facing the same fate, if not worse, inside. This was your second chance, Juice, you hear me? You did wha’ you had ta do for your family.”

“She was the first,” and damnit, my voice cracks, and Chibs’ hard look falters, “I mean, aside from Miles, that was an accident. Chibs, that woman, that fucking broken, devastated, lost god damn mother,” and I can’t continue. My face is back in the Scots shoulder, and his hands are solid on my back.

“Aye lad, I know, and I wish there were somethin’ ta say,” he all but whispers, and lets me indulge in being a sook for a moment longer before his hands find my shoulders and he pushes me back. I lean back against the wall again, not overly trusting my legs just yet, “C’mon now Juice, get it together.”

I nod, and square my shoulders, but when I dare another glance to Chibs’ eyes, and realize my hands are still balled up in the front of his cut, all thought of walking away vanishes, and with a determined snarl, I yank the man forward and crash our mouths together. Expecting Chibs to push me away, I’m pleasantly surprised to hear a low growl come from the Scot before he’s kissing me back like it’s the last chance he’s ever going to get, those fucking hands I want to feel all over me again finding their way from my shoulders back to my neck.

“Fuck, Chibs,” the snarl in my own voice half startles me, but I get an answering growl of my own as Chibs uses all his body weight to pin me against himself and the cabin, momentarily knocking what little breath is left in my lungs out through my nose. I bite his bottom lip for that, and I feel the smirk in return.

“God damnit Juice,” Chibs swears, his teeth raking down my neck, and it takes me a few seconds to register the Scots mapping out where the chain once left a dark bruise when I tried to end it all a while back. For some reason, that just makes me harder, and I practically whimper and arch when his teeth then scrape up my esophagus and onto my jaw, pushing my now aching cock up into his own straining through his denim.

My hands only have time to find his belt before a gentle cough startles us apart. My eyes snap up to Gemma, leaning casually as you please against the corner of the house, a few feet from us, a knowing look on her face. We both break apart and straighten ourselves out, and at least Chibs manages to look smug while I feel the heat come up to my fucking ears. I don’t think I’ve been this embarrassed in my life. Is this what most kids feel like when their parents walk in on them going at it with someone?

“Well, as lovely as it is seeing that you two have finally worked things out, Jax is about to head off, was lookin’ for ya Chibs, gotta sort out the bodies,” Gem states simply, and I’m actually amazed there’s no undertones of anger, or disgust, or shock, or anything else negative in her voice. Chibs gives a curt ‘aye’ before he wanders off, but Gemma stops me before I can slink away. One hand gentle on my bicep, the matriarch of the family makes me look at her. “You alright darlin’?” is the gentle question, and bless Gemma and her abilities to just know, even if she does use her powers for evil sometimes.

“Yeah mum,” I force a smile and give her a quick hug, “I think I’m gunna be,” she lets me go with little hesitation, and when I round the corner I stop short to find Chibs still there, waiting for me. He does his silent eyebrow question thing he does, and this time the smile I return it with is real. “Hey, Chibs?” I begin as we fall into step, one of his arms coming up to drape around my shoulders, “Wanna, um, stay over at mine tonight?” the questions out before I can stop it, but Chibs doesn’t pull back.

He doesn’t even hesitate when he replies, “aye, now come on, we got work ta do.”


	5. Chibs - Morrison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti at you all* HAPPY BABY JESUS DAY AND FESTIVITIES ALL ROUND :3 have some fluff for the occasion! :D <3 from Pureblood and Samwise

It’s a quiet ride back into town with only two engines on the pitch-black road. I’d had a quick chat to Jax about getting the lad out of the area for his own stability, and with my young president’s consent Juice and I leave immediately after the two bodies are six feet under. I’m glad to be out of that toxic environment as much as Juice, his face already looking younger with the weight of the cabin in his rear view mirror. I sneak another glance across at him, his hands gripping the tall hangers and eyes locked on the horizon. At least no matter how broken a man can get, I reminisce, there’s absolutely nothing more comforting and grounding than riding your bike. He holds himself with confidence on a leather seat the way he never does on his own two feet, and I smile under the bandana wrapped around the bottom half of my face.

We pull into the parking lot of his apartment and wheel our bikes into his secure garage. “Ahh,” I sigh, pulling off my helmet and ripping away the bandana to get some fresh air. “You bet’a have some beers in tha’ fridge a yours.” 

“Dude,” Juice gives me a look, resting his own helmet on the mirror of his bike. “Who’s place do you think this is?” 

“Alrigh’, smartass,” I smirk, clipping the back of his head lightly as I follow him out and into the apartment. The second I’m inside the smell of cigarettes and a rotting bin creeps into my nostrils. “Jesus Christ Juicy open a window, that stink is going to cling to my leathers.” 

In all fairness the place could have been a lot worse than it is, the shit that’s been going on with the lad I’m surprised it’s only reasonably dirty. Juice mutters an embarrassed apology and scurries past to turn on the lounge room light and find the offending garbage. He ties it up and runs off back out the door to chuck it in the bins outside and I can’t help but watch him with amusement. His dancing around reminds me of when I used to bring dates home only to remember how grubby the place was and have to do a rushed tidy up. I move into the kitchen, finding the aforementioned beer and cracking two bottles. I set one down on the bench beside me and waste no time in emptying a good portion of the other into my mouth. 

When Juice reappears, he’s lost his cut and shoes, looking all the more dirtier for it. I pass him his beer and lean back against the bench, watching Juice with interest. Once he’s finally come to a stop, no longer flustering about his apartment trying to make it look anything less than the mess it is, his features slowly begin to transform back into the boy I saw retching his stomach contents behind the cabin. Eyes fixate on the bottle in his hand, his eyebrows creasing and I know his mind is a million miles away, back in that room, back where he had to listen and feel that woman die at his hands. My own throat feels tight as I remember the first person I ever killed through an order. It’d been back when I was in the IRA, and he had intel that the Kings didn’t want getting out. I’d fired my gun in the back of his head were he’d been bound and tied to a chair in his own lounge room. His wife had come home early while I was still trying to clean up the blood, and she’d been my second. I’d become so desensitized to murder that I’d forgotten how crippling and heavy the first kill was to me. And I empathized for Juice, knowing how he felt. 

“You look a bit flustered there lad,” I say, as he tucks one hand under his opposite bicep and takes a long swig. “Got any dope? Looks like you could use some.”

“I really could,” he agrees, and opens a cupboard above the fridge to fish out a chop bowl, scissors and a small ziplock of buds. We relocate into the lounge where I spy Juice’s cut strewn across the back of the couch. I place my own on top of his and settle down into the too-soft cushions. Juice sits as well, not entirely a seat away, but not close enough to be sitting fully on the cushion beside me. He leans forward, taking a single bud out and begins snipping it into smokable pieces. As I wait for him to finish, I reach for the stereo remote and flick it on. Loud, shredding guitars and a gruff, scratchy voice blares out from the speakers, making both Juice and I jump in fright. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” I curse, smashing the down arrow as fast as I can and wiping away a bit of spillage on my shirt. “Wha’ the hell is that?!” 

Juice sniggers and looks at me sideways, “Avenged Sevenfold, they’re awesome.”

“They’re fuckin’ abrasive at max volume,” I reply, feeling like an old man again. At the lower volume, I can almost appreciate the music, though the screaming I will never understand. At least there’s more than the sound of scissors and gulps of beer now though.

Juice pulls a zippo out of his pocket and lights up the joint now hanging from his lips. I watch with shameless intent as he puckers and takes a long drag. He holds his breath and offers me the stick, slouching down into the back of the couch and waits a few more seconds before he exhales. The smoke quickly fills my throat and lungs as I suck on the joint myself, glad to not have had a cigarette for most of the day. It hits me almost instantly and I can’t taste any tobacco.

“No spin?” I ask, coughing slightly.

“God no,” Juice grins, making grabby hands for it back. “Why waste such good quality dope with tobacco.”

“Good call.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth and it doesn’t take long before I’m stubbing the roach out in the chinese container-pseudo-ashtray.

“Juicy,” I say after a while. 

“Yeah?” is the small reply. I look over and his head is lolled back over the top of the couch, staring up at the roof as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

“My beer’s empty.”

“There’s more in the fridge.”

“Juicy.”

He sighs, a sigh that I can hear a smile underpinning and I tilt my head to catch his gaze. He is smiling, and I grin back, wiggling my empty bottle as if to exaggerate the issue. He stands and leaves the room, coming back seconds later with two fresh bottles. I take one from him and he makes to sit back down. Before he puts his arse on the cushion though, I grab his forearm and drag him closer; he falls clumsily against my side and I slide my arm around his shoulders. There’s that big dumb grin on his face as he looks at me and shuffles under my arm so he’s comfortable.

“Are you okay with this Juice?” I ask, taking a swig of my beer.

“Yeah,” the Puerto Rican replies, his voice suddenly thick, “actually getting high and chillin’ here is a nice way to end such a fucked up day.”

“No, I mean, are you okay with what has been going on between us,” I can’t help but need to affirm our actions. “I know I kind of sprung that kiss on you in the garage and I ‘ope that at the cabin, that’s not just because you think I want it.”

“Jesus, no,” Juice all but blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth quicker than his lips can move, “Chibs, I… I want it. I don’t know why me of all people though, I mean, fuck, I didn’t even know you were into… you know.”

“Cock?” I finish for him, enjoying the way his ears go pink at the word.

“That.” 

I shrug. “Pussy isn’t the be-all-end-all of sex Juicy. Not that I planned doin tha’ after beatin’ tha shite outta ya, that sort of jus’ happened.” 

“Do you regret it?” Juice’s eyes are big and bloodshot, but the stare is intense when I look down at him.

I genuinely think about that for a moment. Do I regret it? I felt awful for possibly confusing the poor lad and making it hard to keep his tan around the clubhouse, but after his advances today, I know this new feeling welling up in my chest for the boy is mutual. I squeeze his shoulder firmly, “Not one bit.”

Juice seems happy with my answer, and falls against me so his head is resting against my collarbone. 

When my beer is yet again empty I’m torn with the decision to stay put or stand up and lose the contact I am currently so enjoying. Unfortunately the alcoholic in me wins, and I tap Juice to make him sit up. He opens his eyes and moves back.

“Another?” I ask, standing and stretching my arms. He nods and I grab the empties to toss in the bin on my way. “You should roll another too.”

He complies, shuffling forward again to make a second joint and I collect our beer. 

An hour, a six pack and three darbs later, we’re lying on the floor, heads together but feet in opposite directions, staring up at that ever interesting roof while Led Zeppelin play in the background. Somehow the subject of dopplegangers had come up in stoner conversation and I was halfway through making a lewd comment about Juice having a pretty doppleganger in prison as the Puerto Rican boy toy.

“You know who you remind me of?” Juice says suddenly, interrupting my elaborate story.

“Who?”

“That guy in Braveheart.”

“Wha’ William Wallace?” I screw my face up at the thought. “Fuck off, I don’ look anythin-“

“No not him, the other dude, the one who has his wife taken by the pommy cunt.” 

I rack my brain, trying to remember the name of the character, “Morrison?”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, “holy shit we should definitely watch that movie.”

“Why, so we can make a detailed report of all the historic inaccuracies of the Battle of Stirling Bridge?” I tease, rolling to one side when I see Juice had flipped onto his stomach and was looking down at me with puppy dog eyes.

“No, dick,” he bites back, “just so I can prove I’m right.”

I allow the boy to jump up and rustle through his DVD collection, taking my time to sit up. The weed had hit me pretty hard, and I felt pretty baked potato. Juice yelps excitedly when he finds it, and expertly sets his TV up to run the movie.

“Christ,” I sigh only half meaning it, “it’s bad enough you got one accent to deal with righ’ now, you wanna add an entire cast to the effort?”

“I can understand you fine Chibs,” Juice grins, “always have.”

I stand and flop back down on the couch, taking up the whole length. 

“Where do I sit?” Juice asks, looking down at me curiously.

“Righ’ ere,” I pat the sliver of couch in front of me, shuffling into the back as far as I can. Juice sits tentatively on the edge of one cushion, unsure how to proceed. “Shite boy just git down here.” I grin and yank his shirt so that he drops down beside me, then wrap my hand around his torso as he settles into the curve of my body.

I can smell the skin of his neck so close to my face and it’s dirt and cheap cologne and sweat. There’s something just as attractive about a filthy man as there is about a primped, clean woman and I rest my head against his as the movie begins.

“There, that’s the one!” Juice jerks to attention about ten minutes into the movie when my supposed lookalike finally makes his debut.

“Him?” I laugh, sitting up slightly to get a better look at the TV I hadn’t honestly been paying that much attention to.

“Yeah, all that’s missing is the hair decorations,” he grins up at me and then his face quickly changes. “We should fix that!”

“What?” I say dumbly, instantly missing the heat of his body as he springs up from the couch, swaying slightly in his tipsy state. He rockets from the room and I sigh, knowing that I’m most likely going to have to sit up again. Lying was the perfect position for my head right now.  
Minutes later Juice comes bounding back into the room, his hand full of what looks like ripped material and a cat collar.

“Tha hell?” I ask, peering at his fistful of shit with suspicion.

“Just sit up,” he says, and I whine like an old crone.

“Tha’s so not gonna happen Juicy Boy,” I say, burying my head in my arm.

He makes a noise like an exasperated mother, “fine, just roll over then.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” I smirk but roll over onto my belly anyway.

Juice slaps my shoulder but it’s quickly made redundant by soft strokes as he runs his thick, calloused hands through my hair. I have knots in the unruly mess and am mildly surprised at how gentle those hands can be as he combs them out with his fingers. After what feels like ages, my hair being tugged and wrapped and god-knows-what-else, he tells me that he’s finished. I raise my head and grope at my hair with the hand not bracing me against the couch. I feel a piece of material tied into a lock on the side of my head and another at the back, low on the nape and it feels like its been wrapped. I hear a jingle of a bell and find the culprit at the end of it.

“I’m pretty sure Morrison didn’t have a bell in his hair,” I look up at Juice, and the smile tugging from ear to ear is enough to allow such juvenile behavior. To be honest it feels good to be playful again, the time between companions with a sense of humor has been few and far between.

“So what, it looks good,” Juice shrugs. 

“Aye,” I grin. I roll over onto my back, leaning my head against the armrest, and slip my hand up around his neck. He leans into the touch as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and suddenly I’m closing the gap between us in the first kiss that isn’t rushed and aggressive and desperate. My tongue presses against his lips, asking for passage, and he accepts it willingly. It’s slow, languid and made somewhat amusing by the fact I’m pretty sure he has the pasties almost as bad as I do. But he tastes of beer and weed and something entirely him, and I find myself wanting nothing more than to stay lost in his mouth for the rest of the night. 

Its ages before we break apart, and when we do we’re both softly panting, Juice holding my wrist where I’m still clutching the back of his neck.

“Lay with me, Juicy,” I say, seeing the alcohol and dope and adrenaline shining in his eyes. I don’t want to take things fast, so I take him back in my arms and nuzzle his neck with my whiskers, pressing play on the forgotten movie. At some point, we both fall asleep, and I don’t remember seeing the end of Braveheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave a kudos or a comment letting us know what you think! We THRIVE on feedback! xoxo


	6. Juice - Looking for Chibs

The first thing I realize when I come to is I fucking hurt. My necks got a crick in it like you wouldn’t believe and my right arm is numb from where it’s pinned under me, and there’s a dull ache across my shoulders and the base of my spine. I moan aloud and try to shift. 

The second thing I realize when I come to is I’m not alone. There’s warmth under me that feels hard and familiar, and, momentarily confused, its takes my sleep-clogged brain a second or two to realize that, oh yeah, numbnuts, Chibs came home with me last night, and we didn’t make it off the couch.

When my right arm finally has feeling in it again, I pry my eyes open and prop myself up over the Scot under me. During the night, we had managed to rearrange ourselves so Chibs is on his back, head cushioned by the armrest (he’s gunna complain like a motherfucker when he wakes up in a world of hurt) and I’ve wriggled my way between the man’s legs, and, judging by the sizable patch of drool on the front of his white wife beater, Chibs’ shoulder was my pillow.

All aches and pains aside, last night was just what I needed, a smile cracking my face as I reminisce. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to relax like that without the help of oxy and hookers, and honestly I think Chibs needed it as much as I did. Jax has been riding everyone’s ass in different ways, and with the added pressure of the VP patch, I know he’s been dealing with some crazy shit.

Gently, I bring a hand up to brush some of Chibs’ stray hair from his face, and hold in a snicker when I spy the material-wrapped locks I tied through his hair last night, a-la-Morrison. I note the cat bell has fallen out, lost lord-knows-where in my couch. It’s been known to eat things and never return them. 

I could lie here forever, just watching Chibs sleep – I swear he looks ten years younger, all relaxed and off-guard – but the need to piss becomes too much. As gently as I can, which, in all honesty probably isn’t that gently at all, I manage to untangle myself from my couch-partner and pad my way down the hall to my bathroom.

When I come back to the lounge, I pause again at the couch. Since the (admittedly, deserved) thrashing at TM, what’s been going on between Chibs and I has seemed too unreal to even contemplate; like a dream wrapped in fog, where the more you think about it, the more reality will catch up to you before you wake up, alone and disappointed. Bracing myself on my forearms on the back of the couch, I take once more to watching the Scot sleep. A few moments pass before a sleep-clogged, gruff voice startles me.

“Ya gunna stand there all day Juicy or are ya gonna get back down ‘ere?” Chibs asks, accent thick with sleep, eyes staying closed. I let out a huff of laughter.

“Well, I was going to get some coffee, but, you distracted me,” I reply in mock accusation. 

One brown eye cracks open, “well don’ let me keep ya, where’s tha’ coffee?” 

Snickering, I push myself off the couch and wander to the kitchen. Knew that’d get his attention – man likes his coffee almost as much as he likes his whiskey. All sorts of colorful vocabulary follow me, and I know Chibs is forcing his stiff body vertical, moaning loudly about being too old, cheap couches, bastard Puerto Ricans and slobber on his clothes. I laugh to myself, and blush when I find myself thinking I could really get used to this.

Mentally reprimanding myself to stop being such a fucking girl, god damnit, I meander back into the lounge, a mug of coffee in each hand. Seeing Chibs has found his way into a seating position, propped up next to the right armrest, I park my arse haphazardly on the other side of him, and with a giant grin, knowing how much the man hates mornings, hand him his coffee, which he takes slowly, eyeing me like a feral animal.

“Stop lookin’ so ‘appy, Juice,” the Scot gruffs around his mug, eyes wandering over my still grinning-like-an-idiot face, “Wha’s the time, anyweh?” my eyes roam over to the clock on the wall by the TV as I sip my coffee.

“Eight twenty-five in the A.M,” I reply, and Chibs moans like he’s been shot.

“Fuck you an’ yer couch,” he glares, but there’s no heat in it, and his grumpiness only succeeds in brightening my mood. I can’t help the laugh that gets out, and I try and muffle my glee in my coffee, taking a couple of big mouthfuls, eyes still on Chibs. 

“Ah it isn’t all that bad, is it?” I begin innocently, Chibs’ suspicious glare still on me, “Do I need to cook you breakfast too, sweetpea?” I ask, all cheek, trying not to smirk. Chibs calmly places his now near-empty mug on the table, and I barely have time to put mine at a safe distance before I’m being pulled into a headlock, knuckles digging into my scalp painfully as Chibs wrestles me into submission.

I’d like to say I didn’t let out a very un-manly yelp and squawk indignantly while I fought for my freedom, but…I guess I did.

We swear, and cuss, and fight each other like children for dominance, and somehow I manage to straddle Chibs, but the Scot has both my wrists pinned behind me, so we end up in a stale mate.

“Fuckin’ sweetpea me ya cheeky little shite,” Chibs half spits on a breathy laugh, and I snicker above him, wriggling in a vain attempt to get my arms free. When I realize that isn’t going to work, I try a dirtier tactic, using my position to my advantage. 

“Come on, you know you love it,” I grin, pushing my hips down into his. Chibs half snarls and half moans at my movements, and when I rock back down again, noting delightedly the man still has half a morning-wood, those brown eyes slide closed and his grip on my wrists loosens. I win.

“Tha’s cheating, Juice,” Chibs reprimands half-heartedly around a groan, rutting up into my slow roll down, my cock responding quickly. I can only imagine the smug smirk on my face when he lets my wrists go, his hands instead wrapping around both of my hips. I relocate my hands to the top of the couch, either side of the Scots head, and bring my face down to ghost my lip against his.

“Yeah, but it worked,” is all I say before I seal my lips over his. The kiss is slow and languid, and Chibs’ thumbs run circles around my jutting hipbones; I’m beginning to suspect a bit of a fetish there. When we break apart for air, I quickly rid the man of his wife-beater, and I take the time to map his body with my eyes and hands. I start at his chest; it’s soft in his age but the muscle underneath still firm, littered with scars and tattoos. I trace around the outline of his dollar bill before trailing my fingertips south. Thanks for his love of alcohol and cigarettes (and his shitty diet), Chibs’ stomach is starting to show its abuse, and I can tell the Scots going to have a mighty fine tummy in another decade or so – just hopefully not as proud as Bobby’s. He’s nowhere near overweight, and like his chest, when I place both my hands flat on his stomach and begin a slow descent south, I feel the firm muscles twitch underneath his whiskey-layer.

Impatient or maybe slightly self-conscious, I can’t tell, Chibs’ hands wrap around my neck and I’m being pulled in for another kiss, this one more heated than the last. Like a cat, I roll my body into his, and moan when our cocks meet through our denim. When Chibs pushes me back, my shirt is the next to go and his deep eyes darken further, and I feel myself blush under his intense gaze.

“Jesus Juice,” is the growled warning, and I whine in the back of my throat when strong arms wrap around my waist and teeth begin to mark my collarbone. “I don’ know wha’ you see in me,” Chibs begins, worrying the skin on my neck with his teeth, “Bu’ Christ boy.” Chibs growls, large hands slipping into my back pockets to grip my ass. I take the unspoken compliment for what it is, and moan into Chibs’ mouth when he pulls my hips down firmly to meet his, the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. I spread my legs as far as they can go, wanting, needing more pressure, fuck, and the urge to feel more skin so badly it near hurts, I begin to tear at his belt. I get it open – 

When the doorbell rings. We both freeze at the same time, and I groan in dismay and put my forehead against his. “Are you fucking serious?!” I growl, and Chibs groans in displeasure against my lips. Wanting the person at the door to just drop fucking dead, I kiss back, fully intent on ignoring them. Not 30 seconds later, whoever it is bangs on the heavy wood and, with a string of curse words, I pry myself from the Scot, hide my actually quite-fucking-painful-thank-you-very-much erection in the waistband of my jeans, and head for the door.

Not bothering to hide my irritation, I flick the locks without checking who it is and pull the door open. If it wasn’t my president, I would have knocked the fucker out, my right hand twitching at my side. My current state of dishevelment quickly catches up to me and when Jax’s baby blues dart down to my neck, linger for a second, then find my face, I try for an innocent grin.

“Hey Jax, what’s up?” I greet, subtly loud enough to alert the man on my couch. We share a quick hug before my prez wanders inside.

“Looking for Chibs, actually, been trying to get a hold of him all morning, and when he wasn’t at his I figured he was here,” Jax replies, and I motion towards my lounge.

“Yeah, he’s here. We got a bit wrecked last night, ended up crashing on my couch, coffee?” Jax nods his affirmative and heads for the lounge. I hear Chibs greet the blonde with a cheery ‘Jackie-boy!’ and I miss the beginning of the convo while I make more drinks, knowing Chibs will appreciate another.

When I head back in, I catch Clay’s name in the convo, and see the worried expression on Chibs’ face, and my gut sinks a little. “What’d I miss?” I query, handing Jax and Chibs their coffees.

“We need everyone at TM,” my prez begins, giving my a curt nod of thanks when he takes his mug, “I’ve just been up to see Clay, Toric has him in protective custody hoping to trade his safety for info on the MC and bring Tara down with us; this gun shit is getting outta hand,”

“No shit?” I cast a quick glance Chibs’ way, and the Scot looks troubled, his features already set in work mode.

“Yeah, everyone’s on their way, I just couldn’t get a hold of you guys,” Jax trails off and I will my face to stay neutral as his blue eyes flit from me to Chibs; between the state of undress, clothes everywhere, the shit in his hair and the marks I know are on my skin I can tell he’s piecing everything together. Thankfully, Chibs doesn’t let Jax say anything further.

“Alrigh’ Jackie-boy, let us get our shite together and we’ll be righ’ behind you,” the Scot begins before he pins me with a playful glare, “Don’ know how long it’s been since Juicy here’s had a shower – can smell ya from here.”

“Fuck you,” I grin back and Jax lets out a small laugh, tension somewhat broken.

“Alright, I’ll see ya’s there,” is the prez’s parting words, and when the door shuts behind him, I sigh audibly.

“Well tha’ could ‘ave been awkward,” Chibs half smirks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Could have been?” I ask, giving the Scot an incredulous look, “pretty sure it was really awkward, you fuckin’ piranha.” Chibs just laughs, pushes me towards the hall and smacks my arse.

“Come on ya skirt, let ‘im figure it out, could be fun ta watch,” the Scot teases, steering me towards my bathroom by my ass, a firm hand on either globe. My cock gives another interested twitch, and suddenly I don’t really give a fuck about Jax anymore.

“Yeah yeah, all I know is if I don’t get to cum soon, I’m going to kill something,” I huff, and Chibs barks a laugh.

“Well, tha’s something we should remedy then, isn’t it?” the Scot all but purrs, manhandling me into my bathroom. I match his mischievous look with one of my own.

“That a threat or a promise?” I enquire, leaning back on my basin, feeling my skin pull taught over my abs and hips, my way-too-loose jeans pulling Chibs’ attention from my face. The Scot growls and kicks my bathroom door shut.

“Defiantly a promise, Juicy boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, or the next 'juicy' chapter will be held for ransom! and you won't wanna miss it ;) <3


	7. Chibs - Dangerously Good in White

The door slams and echoes around the room, bouncing off the tiles and leaving an anticipative ringing in my ears. Juice is leaning against the sink, the hem of his jeans sagging to reveal smooth, brown skin stretched over sharp hipbones and a hint of dark hair trailing down out of sight. I can barely tear my eyes away from that ripped torso, silently all-too aware how much I’ve let myself go. Assumingly though Juice doesn’t seem to mind my less-than-sculpted body though, the way his hands slid eagerly down my chest and onto my stomach in the lounge, so I push any negative thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the blood beginning to pool low in my crotch at the mere sight of the Puerto Rican. Juice might have been the one to voice it, but I was also at the end of my tether with this game of cat and mouse. I want to feel more than just his mouth today. I want to taste more than just the salt on his neck; slow and steady be damned.

I close the gap between us, pushing Juice roughly against the counter. He lifts his arse just enough to be almost sitting, and his legs open to allow my own denim-clad groin to push up into his. I steel one hand beside his head against the mirror and use the other to cradle the back of his neck, pulling his face closer. His hands find their way down around my waist and he groans, the noise vibrating softly on my lips. 

“I am so fucking over this godforsaken belt of yours,” Juice hisses, wrenching the leather strap out of its loopholes violently. The motion yanks my hips forward and I’m glad I’m still bracing myself against the mirror. He rips the buckle open and unsheathes my belt from my jeans, dumping it unceremoniously at our feet.

“Easy boy,” I smirk, “tha’s my favorite belt you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Fuck it,” Juice retorts, hands coming back down to my waist and fingering along the hem of my jeans.

“Fuck you.” I reach down and grab both his wrists with my own, pinning them down besides the taps, and hover over him with my best menacing glare. I can almost feel his heartbeat begin to thump quicker, matching my own as the air crackles with electricity around us. Juice looks down at his hands then back up at my face and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

“Yeah, fuck me,” he repeats, his tone thick with lust and still a hint of uncertainty. Just hearing those words come from his pretty little mouth does things to my insides and I feel the long forgotten sensation of my abdomen pulsing with excitement. My cock twitches and begins to tighten in my pants again and there’s a short moment of silent tension before I let out a small, guttural noise, pushing my mouth against his in a rough kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth and he nips at my lower lip, only accelerating the frantic need to be touching as much of him as possible. I wrap my arms around his torso and pull him closer, loving the feel of his muscles contracting and stretching underneath my fingers as he shifts his weight and suddenly his legs aren’t on the ground. They wrap around my thighs, puling me in closer as if that’s even possible right now and his hands clutch the base of my neck, nails digging in and sending shivers down my spine. I quickly decide I like being marked as much as I enjoy marking and moan encouragingly into Juice’s mouth, my hands gripping at his hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Fuck, Chibs,” the younger man pants, breaking away just enough to gasp in precious needed air. I nod my agreement silently into his collarbone, wanting to feel his flesh between my teeth again. I nip softly at first, trailing a slow line along his clavicle until I reach the apex of his neck, then bite down firmly. His breath catches in his throat and he lets it out slowly, right beside my ear as the most delicious noise I’ve heard in years. I need to hear it again so I bite down a little further up, worrying the skin beneath my lips with both teeth and tongue. I move my hand from his hipbone, following the natural contours of his body as it leads me towards his crotch. The loose jeans do little to conceal his erection jutting up against his belly, the tip protruding from his beltline, shamelessly advertising his current lack of underwear. My fingers find the velvet flesh and I ghost across it, blindly feeling for the button of his pants to allow myself easier access. Juice rocks his hips forward, almost mewling as I come into contact with the head of his cock again when I unfasten his jeans and finally he’s free of the material constraint. The gasp that escapes his mouth as I wrap my hand around his erection is lost in another kiss and he arches against me, nails finding their way back into my skin. My thumb caresses over the tip of his cock as I begin to stroke him and smear a bead of precum over the pink flesh.

“Stop teasing me,” Juice whines, pushing against my hand in a desperate attempt to quicken my pace. I grab his hip with my free hand and shove him back down onto the sink, latching onto his lower lip and making him yelp.

“So impatient,” I growl against his mouth, but start moving my hand faster all the same. He keens into me, and it’s not long before I feel his abdomen contract and he buries his head into my shoulder. 

“Chibs-” he pants out a small warning, “I’m-”

“Aye,” I grip him just a little tighter, pumping my fist determinedly, “Come for me, Juicy boy.”

Almost as if my voice was a trigger, Juice gasps and the hand clutching my shoulder clenches. I feel the telltale warm, thick mess shoot onto my chest and dribble down over my closed fist, milking his cock until the last string of cum falls between us.

“Fuck, I didn’t want to,” Juice sighs in a husky voice, “I mean, not like, I wanted to-“

“It’s alrigh’ lad,” I smirk, “there’s plenty of time for that later.”

“But what about you?”

“Well,” I take a step back and allow the jeans that were defiantly clinging to my hips to fall down, stepping out of them and taking my neglected cock into my wet, cum-covered hand. “We still haven’ had that shower yet.”

Juice’s eyes lightt up with a devilish grin and he pounced from the basin, wriggling out of his jeans with renewed enthusiasm. I step into the tiled cubicle, turning the taps to a decent heat so that Juice’s cum doesn’t congeal unnecessarily on my hands when I rinse them. He steps into the shower after me, managing to look excited and sheepish at once as he steps closer and kisses me hard on the mouth.

“Do you want me to…?” Juice lets the question hang in the air and I nod, leaning back against the wall and putting a firm hand on Juice’s shoulder, guiding him to his knees. He takes my cock in his hand obediently, the other holding my hip to help steady himself as he looks up at me through the running water. I quickly face the showerhead at an angle that still allows for the comfort and heat of the water but so it isn’t on his face and he grins awkwardly again.

“I’ve never, uh,” he blurts out and I cup the back of his head in what I hope is reassurance.

“First time for everything, lad,” I say, and apply soft pressure so that he moves forward and the head of my cock is swallowed in one motion. I feel his tongue press against the underside on my glans and the heat of his mouth overwhelms my senses. I tilt my head back, my eyes falling shut as Juice begins to bob along the length of my cock, gagging slightly when I hit the back of his throat.

“See Juicy,” I sigh, stroking his neck and wishing momentarily the boy had hair so I could facefuck him the way my body was begging me to. “All men are natural cocksuckers.”

He moans around his mouthful and I feel my balls tighten at the sensation. “Yeah, do that again, that feels good.” I continue to talk him through what I like and what will tip me over the edge and it seems to spur him along; he sucks and licks and moans and rolls my balls in his hand until I feel my orgasm building at the base of my cock. “Juice,” I warn him, “You probably won’t like the feeling of cum being shot down yer throat for yer first blowjob.” I look down at him and he catches my eye, moving his mouth from my cock.

“Should I do something else?” he asks genuinely, his hand still cupping my balls.

“Just keep fondling those,” I smirk, “and look up at me with those brown eyes a’ yers. Open your mouth.” He does and the pure obedience of the boy is practically all I need as I wrap my hand around my cock and bring myself to orgasm, trying to make sure I aim as I hit his mouth and cheeks. He makes a face as the salty fluid hits his tongue but he doesn’t shy away, allowing me to finish and admire how attractive he looks covered in my cum. It suits him most definitely more than the pretty crow eaters usually sitting at my feet.

“Ah fuck,” I sigh, releasing my quickly softening member and using a thumb to wipe away some of the mess from his chin. “Tha’ looks dangerously good on you boy.”

Juice turns a brilliant shade of pink, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking into his features and he stands up. “Can I wash it off now?” he asks and I almost snort with laughter.

“Aye,” I nod, and quickly bring him close for a final kiss. I can taste myself on his lips and it's something entirely perverted that I've always enjoyed and never questioned; it just gets me off. I’m glad Juice is so receptive of that particular kink of mine.

We clean ourselves quickly; post-orgasmic bliss interrupted by the realization all the boys are waiting for us at TM. Once we’re dressed and presentable, we take our bikes out of the garage and start the engines. Just before I slip my helmet on, Juice points to me with a silly grin on his face and I lean in to hear him say ‘you still have wraps in your hair’. I shrug and wink at the boy, buckling the strap under my chin and setting off ahead down the road towards headquarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I know you guys have been waiting for something a little more x rated to happen I hope this lived up to your expectations! (◕‿◕✿)


	8. Juice - Catching On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this one's a bit short, we write in accordance to the plot and where it feels natural to end the POVs, so this one was a tad on the stint side, but promise the next one will make up for it!

Obviously, everyone is at TM by the time we get there, all milling around the bar, except Happy and Tig who are playing a game of pool. No one really spares us a glance, save for when we do the rounds and say hello, all except Jax and Tig. Jax’s face I can’t read, but Tig looks some parts curious and some parts smug, his blue eyes zeroed in on me. I’m assuming it’s my decorated neck that’s pulled his attention, like some kind of perverted magpie, and I make a mental note to try and avoid him, which is going to be hard as our prez calls for everyone to join him at the table.

Before I can enter in, trailing behind Rat, an outstretched arm blocks my entry, and a wicked grin catches my eye. Tig is grinning down at me like the cat that caught the canary. “Not now?” I ask somewhat meekly, and eying me suspiciously for a moment’s longer than necessary, Tig decides to go with the angel on his shoulder and wanders to his seat, allowing me to scoot in beside Chibs. Everyone shuts up pretty quick before Jax starts to speak.

“We all know why we’re here. Clay swears he didn’t give Toric anything.” Blue eyes roam around the room. 

Tig doesn’t miss a beat. “You believe him?” 

Jax glances to the brunette, and gives a half-hearted shrug, “he was supposed to transfer to Stockton this morning, we’ll see where he ends up. If he’s still in protective custody, he was lyin’.” 

Tigs lets out a yeah on a nod, and my eyes drift to Chibs’ hand that twitches on reflex on the table.

“And if he isn’t,” the Scot begins, Jax’s eyes finding his, “he’s dead.”

“Either way this marshal is still a problem,” Jax continues, “I’ve got no doubt he’s already made the Byz-Lat connection to the school shooting.”

“We’re layin’ low on guns, Byz-Lat ties are buried,” Happy interjects, and Jax takes a moment before he slowly eyes us all one by one across the table.

“Yeah he’s gunna come at us any way he can, we gotta assume every move we make is bein’ watched. Play it straight, not even a parkin’ ticket, ya understand?” We all mutter our agreements and, satisfied, Jax nods before leaning back in his chair, “alright. I gotta meet with Nero in Stockton, sign these new Diosa papers.”

“Kay well,” Chibs begins, sitting forward, and I can’t help it if my eyes track his movements. “Me, Tig, Juice, Hap – we come wit’ you. Phil,” Chibs pauses for a moment waiting for Phil’s attention, and I shift subtly in my seat. Yeah, the Scot’s business demeanor is a bit of a turn on, “I need you to grab some of the prospects, jump on TM, the place is fallin’ wey behind.”

Phil nods his affirmative, and a thought pops suddenly into my head, snapping me from my revere and I force my eyes to focus on Jax, “Someone should reach out to Bobby, fill him in about Clay.” 

“Then do it,” the blonde almost snaps, reaching for the gavel, but I know that anger isn’t meant for me.

“Jacky-boy,” Chibs almost growls, his town a low warning, and it never ceases to amuse me, how much of a stepfather he is to Jax, and was to Opie, “you need to call Bobby. He needs to hear from you.”

“If he misses me so much he shouldn’ta left,” Jax dead-pans before slamming the gavel once and standing. “Let’s go.”

We all make our moves for the door and shuffle back out into the bar, splitting off to collect our things. Before I reach the bar, a firm hand grabs the collar of my cut and I’m getting yanked backwards. I ‘ooof’ slightly when my back hits a firm, but not quite familiar, chest.

“Have fun last night, did we Juicy?” Tig growls into my ear, and I can hear the smirk in his words. I groan and try to wriggle free. It’s to no avail, and Tiggy sniggers as he uses his free hand to yank back my shirt, tsking softly, “my, my, I didn’t realize Chibs had a taste for Puerto Rican cuisine.”

“He doesn’t,” I half snap, noticing a few of the other boys are watching. I particularly notice Chibs' rubbing his neck and glancing over at our prez, covering what looks like a hint of nerves under a mask of amusement, and Jax looking a tad peeved in his contemplative state. “You of all people I thought knew what hookers are, or are you starting to have problems in your old age?”

Happy barks out a laugh somewhere to my right, and Tig snorts and pushes me forward. I stumble a tad on my feet, but turn to grin smugly back at him once I found my balance.

“Well, where the hell was my invite, you kinky bastards?” is the only protest the man has, and I shrug the rest of the conversation off with a laugh. I make my way to the bar, finally, very keen to have a drink before we head out now more than ever.

Sucking down my first mouthful, another body sidles up beside me and, glancing over, my heart stutters a bit when my eyes find fierce blue. Jax is eyeing me like a family dog he’s considering putting down because it’s suddenly turned vicious. I try not to obviously choke on my beer, managing to get it down before I force a smile. “Hey man, what’s up?” I shoot for casual, and just slightly miss.

“Just out of curiosity,” my prez begins slowly, as if still deciding what he’s going to say next, “there were hookers involved, right?”

Before I reply, I take in Jax’s mannerisms. He’s tense, but trying to be casual. His stare is even, but calculating, and his jaw is pretty hard set. I’ve seen my brother kill men before, and its obvious; approach with caution. I snort and look at him incredulously. 

“Chibs and cock? Are you kidding me?” I begin, and I note Jax tries not to crack a smile, “Dude, ok I won’t even be offended that you think I like dick….but _Chibs_? You have _met_ the guy, right?”

Jax lets out a quiet chuckle, and I smile, hopefully not showing how nervous I really am. If the blonde didn’t have a problem with what he thinks is going on between the Scot and I, he wouldn’t be here. I’m taking the warning for what it is, even if I feel the lick of anger in the back of my mind.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jax continues, eyes locked back on mine, “Maybe next time though Juicy,” his voice drops an octave, and his gaze gets that steel back in it, “Make sure the hookers are still there in the mornin’, won’t look so suspicious. People might start getting ideas,” he holds his gaze for a heartbeat before he pushes off the bar, calling for everyone to get a move on.

Feeling eyes on me, I turn to meet soft brown. Across the room, leaning casually on the pool table, Chibs sends me a questioning look. ‘Everythin’ alrigh’?’ I close my eyes, and breathe in to regain my composure. When I meet his gaze again, I shrug and nod before heading for the door myself. I feel his eyes on me, even as we mount our bikes and head off towards Stockton.


	9. Chibs - Pier Confidentiality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update!!! We've had a bit of a crazy week and unfortunately this just completely slipped my mind! Our apologies xoxo

I perch atop the front counter of Barosky’s ‘donut shop’, ears glued to the conversation taking place between Jax, Nero, Barosky and the new madam, Colette. Happy, Tig, Juice and myself are merely background company while the bosses talk so I keep my ears peeled but my demeanor casual. My eyes wander between the business meeting and my Puerto Rican. He’s sitting next to Tig, leaning casually against the back of his chair, fidgeting with his hand on his mouth and nose. His eyes look far away from the bakery store-front. Something has definitely changed, he hasn’t even looked at me since we left TM, and that last encounter with Jax at the bar still isn’t sitting right with me. I know Jackson, I practically reared the boy alongside the club, and the negative disposition he’s begun to develop is beginning to show. A nasty taste in my mouth tries telling me it’s aimed at Juice.

“Yeah, everything, and they can drop by anytime,” I tune back in to hear Jax say, “Nero will show you how to protect the in-house income.”

“Girls gotta be willing to go by the book though,” Nero adds as I take a sip of my coffee. This just seems to be dragging already.

“We like pussy that slants a little to the right.” I smirk at Jax’s comment, but barely get time to digest the context when a cascade of gunshots and glass explodes from the street. What sounds like an entire clip is unloaded into the store and I dive down, instinctively throwing myself towards Juice, wrapping an arm protectively around him as we hit the floor. It’s over in seconds with the sound of tyres screeching away signaling our safety. When the initial confusion and smoke clears, I see Barosky, his gun aimed at the empty, shattered screen. Juice is curled under my arm but when I look down at him, his eyes don’t match his actions. They’re wide and full of concern, but he smiles awkwardly, glances around and quickly shuffles back just slightly out of my reach, away from my touch. The sensation is slightly jarring but I don’t have time to think about it as we stand and collect ourselves, counting bodies to make sure no one was hit by the drive-by shooting. One of Barosky’s men, who had been standing guard outside the shop, is bleeding out on the footpath from multiple holes in his back. I stumble through the layer of shattered window and collapse beside the body, applying pressure against the bullet wounds and calling behind me for assistance. Barosky is there in seconds, aiding in my emergency first aid and we sit there, fingers stuck in flesh until the ambulance arrives.

“How’s your guy?” Nero asks, sometime later. We’re standing outside, watching the ambulance van drive off and waiting for answers. 

“He’s got three bullets in his back, how do you think he is?” Barosky snaps as he walks over to us, out of earshot of the cops gathering around the crime scene.

Jax lets it slide and asks, “was this us or you?”

“Witness got a partial plate on a white Mercedes, one match,” the ex-cop says. “Amir Ghanezi.”

Jax pauses for the slightest of seconds and I quickly realize that he doesn’t recognize the name. I lean forward to enlighten him. “Torture porn scumbag.”

Jax nods quickly, “I thought that was handled?” 

“So did I; anything I should know?” Barosky asks accusingly.

My president looks back at Trager before answering, eyes trying to read the silence in his stare, then to me. As far as I’m aware Tig had stayed behind to cut the guy in the cage loose when Happy and I left for TM. I hope that’s still the case. Jax settles on my blank expression and turns to Barosky, “no, man, we did exactly as you said.”

“We also stole his money and his drugs, trashed his studio. That could have stirred up some bad feelings,” Nero interjects, always the voice of reason.

“Well, let's go find out, he's got a boat in the marina. It's probably halfway to the Caspian Sea by now.” Barosky takes a long, unimpressed drag on his cigar.

“Hey,” Jax turns to Collette, standing well within what I’d call a personal bubble, “we need to give you a ride to your house?”

Barosky’s impatience is plain on his face and he tells Jax to leave her in his boys’ hands, safe at the crooked donut shop. I can’t help but be glad for the riddance of the woman, something about her just doesn’t sit well with me, and I think it has to do with the way Jax looks at her. My relief is short-lived however, when Jax orders Juice to hang back and watch Colette. 

The second I saw him beeline for Juice at the bar I knew something was up; he was slowly trying to piece together the going-ons of my aftercare for the boy. Maybe I should work on looking a little more modest around the clubhouse. It never occurred to me that Jax would take the innuendos seriously, and I can confidently say I know the lad better than anyone else at the table - which at this very moment only helps to fuel the fire kindling in the back of my gut for the decisions my president has been making. This one feels personal though, like he wants to create distance between Juice and I, like he might just have believed Tig back at the clubhouse. 

“Am I talking to myself here or what?” Barosky’s voice cuts through my mind and brings me back to the present, where he’s leaning against a streetlight, waiting for us all to get moving. Jax pulls himself away from Colette and I spare one last glance at Juice, only to be met with the back of his head as he keeps his eyes on Barosky and the cops a few meters behind.

~

We pull up at the shipping yard, park our bikes and meet up with Nero and Barosky, who each drove their own trucks. Barosky informs us of the location of the boat belonging to the Iranians, the Dayoos.

“I count three on deck,” I survey, staring out at the east dock.

“Okay, so how we gonna do this?” Nero asks, looking skeptically at Barosky.

“Let's make it a social call,” the ex-cop replies, tucking his gun into his belt.

Jax stares him down for a moment, before saying, “these assholes just tried to blow us away.”

“What's the matter kid, too risky?”

“No no no,” I lean forward, glaring over Jax’s shoulder at the man wanting to just waltz into the turf of the men responsible for the blood on my wristcuffs not half an hour ago. “Too stupid.”  
“No, it’s okay,” Jax cuts me off, glancing over at me with a look telling me to diffuse the dagger in my voice. 

“Jackie...” I start, wanting nothing more than to clip the boy over his ear.

“Who's gonna take a shot at me when I'm with the Lord of the Docks?” there’s that cocky smirk of his and he tucks his gun into the back of his pants. “Let's go make some friends.”

I sigh, pushing the slide on my beretta forward anyway, before following Jax and Barosky down onto the pier. Nero, Happy, Trager and I hang back a few feet before fork of the dock where the boat is tied off, spread out slightly in an attempt to make the group look less intimidating, yet still protected, on this so-called ‘social call’. 

I take a purposeful stance center of the pier, eyes locked on the boat, watching with sharp eyes as they toss their guns into a crate and get padded down before following one of the men aboard.

Time drags on in silence, the boys behind me getting restless. I don’t take my eyes away from the boat though, trigger finger flexing, instinctively ready to charge if there is any sign of trouble. I hear a mobile phone ring from somewhere behind me, and Nero’s voice answers, trailing off into the distance as he moves away from the group to take the call. Footsteps approach, and I feel Trager move to stand beside me, staring out at the boat.

“I gotta admit Chibbie, I didn’t take you for the sugar daddy type,” he says in a low but playful tone, making sure he doesn’t get overheard by Happy. 

“Careful Trager,” I warn, matching his volume but there is no humor in my voice.

“What?” he shrugs lightly, “you think you guys aren’t even a little obvious? The bite marks, the sleepovers, the severe lack of women in either of your laps this past week?”

I snap my eyes to the taller man, “we have more serious shite goin’ on at the moment to be worryin’ abou’ pussy, don’t even start.”

Trager raises his hands in surrender, “I’m not judging you bro, your business is your business.” He glaces over at the other two, Nero still on the phone and Happy kicking his boot into the wooden pilon, presumably trying to vanadlise it in some meaningless way. “I can’t talk you know my sexual history brother.”

I sigh, rubbing my eyes with the leather of my gloves, knowing denying it was not going to convince Trager of anything. “It wasn’t sposed to happen. There’s so much going on right now, bedding a brother, what d’you think everyone else will make of that, hey?”

Trager folds his arms across his chest, eyes moving back towards the Dayoos. “Well I can’t exactly imagine the boys being comfortable with it, they’re not homophobes man, but this is Juice we’re talking about here.”

“Aye,” I glare at nothing in particular, the weight of the situation somehow tripling by saying it aloud. And the fact that Jax is the only one who knows about Juice’s betrayal to the club makes the possibility of our, whatever-you-could-call-it being a public truth that much more dangerous. “You need to stop with the jokes Tig,” I say softly. “If this gets out, it will destroy the club. Jax is already up Juice’s arse about what you said at the clubhouse. He came over this morning and caught us shirtless and disheveled; he’s already suspicious of what’s going on. I don’t want to see this get out of hand.”

“Right,” Trager replies, “I’m sorry bro, you know me, my mouth starts talking before I can filter anything.”

“Aye.”

“So… are you gonna break this off or what?” the question is attentive, careful, and I appreciate the man’s sensitivity. “I mean, where’s that going?”

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. It’s hard to even imagine a situation where two members are a couple. Unheard of. We’d be the laughing stock of every MC between Nevada and Belfast. There’d be riots, attacks on the club if even the rumor got out. “That would be the safest, smart thing to do.”

Trager looks at me from his peripherals, and I cant help but smirk at his all-knowing stare. “But you care about that boy. You have since the day he walked in to Charming.”

“Aye, that I do.”

We lapse into a small silence, the only sound a consistent thump of steel against wood and the distant, incomprehensive conversation coming from Nero. I feel a little lighter, finally admitting to someone about what’s been happening these last few days. That is until Trager opens his mouth again.

“While we’re on the subject of sensitive topics…” there’s another quick scout as Nero’s voice stops, but he’s already making his way back to the shoreline, choosing to wait by the car it would seem. 

“I’m almost afraid to hear,” I cock my eyebrow, turning my attention fully onto the man beside me. He shuffles his feet and runs his fingers through the dark, wild curls. 

“I sort of, didn’t entirely let that scumbag go,” he says in a single breath, eyes wide and begging to let me hear him out. I only don’t start yelling because of the respect he’d just given me about my own situation. I wait, pushing down the anger on my tongue, staring at Trager as he finds the right words. “I had all intentions of it man, I swear, I let him out of the cage and everything; he was free.”

“But?” 

“He swore at me, he started talking about my baby girl, man,” intense pain flashes over his blue eyes and I feel my rage halt momentarily. “I know he was just being a dick, but the shit he was saying, it was messed up man, like real sick shit; telling me I’d like to watch her cry and call out for me while they raped and tortured her… I couldn’t hear it, I snapped. It just, sort of happened, you know.”

I snorted, unable to ignore the irony. “So, what’d you do?”

“That bathtub…” is all he says and I recoil, disgusted and impressed all at once. 

“That’s just sick Tiggy.”

“I know,” his voice dips and he looks at me, completely serious, “he deserved it Chibs. I got rid of the body, dumped the whole cage off the pier. The jacket must have just, come off somehow and floated to the top.” 

“Jax has no idea,” I nod solemnly, not needing a reply. I put myself in Trager’s position, trying to imagine someone saying such depraved things about my daughter, and despite the shitstorm it caused -almost getting killed in the bakery, standing on the dock anticipating my president getting shot in a boat- I find myself unable to disagree with Trager for his actions; irrational and unthinking though they were.

“You won’t tell him will you?” 

I stay quiet for a moment, conflicted and contemplating my options. As the vice president, by all accounts I should take this directly to Jax without a second thought. The part of me however that values Trager as a brother, as a man respecting my own secret, wins. “I’m going to let you figure this one out on your own Tig, this is your problem. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“I appreciate that, Chibs,” the relief in his voice is obvious, and he grips me over the shoulder just as Happy yells in triumph, and the wooden beam previously attached to the dock splashes loudly into the water beneath. I shake my head, forever amused by Happy’s destructive tendencies, and make my way over to join the man, dragging Trager along with my arm still clasped around his back.


End file.
